Trade
by maroongrad
Summary: Abraham's son explores the basement and finds far more than he expected. Inspired by another fanfic I can't find for love nor money!
1. Chapter 1

(I'd read a similar story a few months ago, and liked it. But I don't picture Alucard's behavior in quite the same way. And so, with the same general starting point (Abraham's son finds something down in the basement...), I took it a whole new direction. This is just the first chapter, I'll probably add one or two more to finish it within the month.)

Trade Ch 1

The boy shook with fear, unable to see anything in the pitch black of the basement but the glowing red eyes. He was trying so hard to be brave, but now, cornered and lost, with the monster approaching him...he screamed, again and again and again, finally finding his voice. The dark, evil chuckle of the monster bubbled merrily out of the darkness around him, and two hands like iron manacles gripped his arms.

"Well, now, and what have we here?" Amused, dark and sardonic and somehow hungry, laced the venomous tone as the red eyes, narrowed to slits, dropped to hover at his own eye level. The screams died in his chest, and he could only stare at the monster he'd released. The eyes tilted as the monster examined its new prey, and he waited for it to eat him, tear him apart, do something, anything, but it seemed content to inspect him. A slick, wet muscle moved along his throat, and the monster hummed happily. "Ah, so very tempting. You have no idea how tasty you are, child. And who are you?" A laugh, tinged with near-insane amusement, echoed about them. "Besides, of course, edible."

Half-choked with fear, but trying to be brave and adult, tongue stiff in his mouth, it took several tries before he could force his name out. "S-Sam. Samuel Van Helsing." The monster seemed to find this very, very amusing.

x

He'd seen them bring in the boxes a month ago, and when he'd asked, his normally genial and loving father had been brusque with him, warning him not to ask again. Eaten up with the curiousity of any 8 year old, he'd wondered and wondered, his mind forming great stories of what his father had hidden away in the basement. But the door to the basement was always locked, and he'd never found out. His father refused to talk about it, only forbidding him from mentioning anything about it to anyone, and telling him only that he'd find out when he was older. After all, there was an entire house to explore, they'd only moved in a few weeks earlier, and he could inspect all of it but the basement.

The attic was full of dusty boxes of old clothes, entirely uninteresting. He'd hoped for suits of armor and exotic old clothes like he saw in his books, but all that he got was yellowed petticoats and ugly curtains. Even the birdcage in the corner was obviously only for a long-deceased bird, not a small dragon or anything equally interesting.

The rest of the house was just a long series of boring bedrooms. The dumbwaiter had been interesting for a few days until he'd learned what it was. His mind had conjured up that it was the secret escape tunnel for pirates. He'd been crushed to see it pass him by, carrying a shepherds pie to his father's office instead. Not a single secret passage anywhere, either; he'd searched in vain for spyholes or walls of unusual thickness, pulling strings from doorway to doorway to measure the lengths of rooms and their interior walls, to find that none of them had any room for a secret passage after all.

The basement was always home to a healthy collection of dark corners, mysterious crates, and frightening creatures and he'd wanted to explore it, but his father had declared it off-limits from the very first. He'd heard people hammering down there, building something, and the Harkers and others had gone up and down the stairs on a daily basis. He'd made it halfway down to see a very prosaic dirt-floored hallway with equally prosaic gaslights before being spotted and promptly ejected. Still, he wondered.

And then the boxes arrived, and it looked like he'd never find out, not until he was too old to enjoy it. The best he could manage was to place his ears against the floors of various rooms and try to listen in. He'd found out that the unused, dusty music-room was the only room where he could hear anything form the basement, far far back in the house...and even with the help of a glass, it was muffled and unclear.

Father had left for the evening, and as soon as his horse was down the driveway, Samuel had grabbed the keyring from where it was hidden in the secret drawer of his father's desk, taken a candle, and gone to explore. He'd wondered if his father was a pirate, and the boxes contained his loot. His mind had filled with images of goblins and vast tunnels, but he'd dismissed those as clearly fantasy.

He wouldn't break anything, and he'd put everything back where he found it. If his father had trusted him, he'd have seen that his son wasn't going to drop something expensive or break anything valuable, no matter how his nanny worried. He'd just have to show his father that no matter how valuable or delicate or secret whatever was in the basement was, he could be trusted with it. Father had once had a whole lot of chains, and he held out a bit of hope that there was a zoo being built down there, and he was being kept out because of the lions and bears. But he wouldn't let them out of their cages if they were there.

And, knowing his father would never have anything REALLY dangerous in his house, and that he could run very very fast, he had taken his candle, unlocked the door, and gone down into the basement. He'd found a lack of cobwebs, just one room after another, clean and cold and empty at first. And then he'd found a room with boxes of dirt. Another room had an empty coffin propped against the wall; spooky, but empty, and he'd looked around for the mummy but found nothing. There was a table there with books, but he'd seen at a glance he couldn't read them. He could read English and a little Dutch, very well too, better than any of his friends, but these didn't seem to be either language, at least not mostly. There were a few boxes with more books in them, and some chains. Shovels and axes and some wood sticks. He found some jewelry, mostly silver church-looking stuff, but nothing near a pirate's hoard.

The last room had an extra lock on it, and two big boards resting in heavy brackets. He'd wondered at that, and had thought that perhaps he'd found the room with the lions and tigers. Careful listening had revealed nothing at all, no roaring lions or shuffling mummies, and he'd opened the door cautiously, prepared to slam it shut immediately. But nothing had happened. Nothing at all. And the dim light from his candle had shown only an empty room as far as he could see through the slit of the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

The room had looked empty and the sudden jerk on his arm had shocked him, not frightened him, not at first. And then the candle was rolling on the floor, guttering out, and he found himself sprawling on the floor beside it, breath knocked from his chest. Looking up, he'd seen glowing red eyes and a very, very sharp smile, which stretched far too wide across an invisible face. Eyes, and teeth.

He hadn't even recovered his breath before he was scrambling out the door in the pitch blackness of that now-threatening basement. Blind, he was entirely lost, and within a minute of his blind scrambling, he realized he'd trapped himself in the dead end of a corridor. And the monster was with him. Horrified, only vaguely aware that his pants were wet, intensely aware that his father was far away, he could do nothing but wait for the monster to eat him.

His father had kept something much worse than a lion in the basement. And he'd opened the door and let it out.

So Van Helsing had a son. Dracula, whom Van Helsing insisted on calling Alucard, turned the present situation over in his mind, finding it deeply amusing and satisfying. Abraham had humiliated him with the capture, kept him locked away, starved, declared that he now had a Master in the form of that human, told him that was all that a monster like him could expect. He'd made careful note of each insult and degradation, and now intended to reap his revenge in full.

Simply killing the foolish boy would be much too quick. Besides, he wasn't prone to hunting children. There was no sport in them, they were the prey of weak-minded Draculinas and failed fledglings. No self-respecting Draculina or vampire would eat them. And they made such marvelous bait.

Still, he was very, very hungry and the taste of the boy thrilled his tongue, tempting him with the memory of just how soft and succulent that neck had been. A mistake, yes, to have done so; he'd only done it to humiliate and terrify the child and to clarify its position with him, but now he had to deal with the raging hunger the action had wakened. And he was very hungry, and very weak.

Planning on how to use this situation to his greatest advantage, how to toy with Van Helsing and unsettle the man, yes, he'd use that to distract himself from the lovely snack crying in front of him. The child was brave enough, but a child, with none of a man's foolishness about false bravery in the face of death. Intelligent enough to realize what its fate was likely to be, the child was pale and shaking with terror, and working itself back up to screaming yet again.

"Silence, or you'll be my meal far sooner than you'd like." Musing on the possibilities, Dracula settled himself comfortably onto the ground by the boy, back against the wall and legs stretched out in front, shoulder leaning against the side wall of the corridor. It took no energy to sit like this, only to hold his head up...and in the dark, with no one to see, why bother? He'd conserve what energy he could for now, or he WOULD be reduced to biting this child, and then the game would be over. His head sagged forward, relaxed, chin resting on his chest.

And he'd been so bored. He quite looked forward to this game. Pulling the child against his other shoulder, a hand around its arm keeping it still, he debated pulling "Sam" into his lap. Abraham would be livid to discover the child curled up there, neck so close to his fangs...but the odor of urine told him it would be an unpleasant experience, indeed. Close beside him, both of them waiting at the end of the narrow passage...Abraham would be upset sufficiently already.

"We'll be waiting for your father." He kept his voice calm, but couldn't stop the wild grin that stretched his cheeks. Bored so long in that little room, locked in the coffin so long before that...oh, he would enjoy this game, indeed. And as long as Abraham returned soon, he'd find his son unmarked.

For now. 


	3. Chapter 3

This will be more chapters than expected, but only because each chapter is so short! I'll try and get more up later today.

Trade 3

Lights flared, the reflection angling down the corner and bring hellfire glints to the surface of Dracula's eyes. Nearly humming with pleasurable anticipation, he watched the glow at the junction of his short hallway and the main corridor. It dimmed, it brightened, it dimmed further...Abraham had brought a friend or two, to block that much light. The teeth flashed in the dim light as the vampire grinned even wider. Samuel shifted beside him, and he idly gripped the boy's arm, tight enough to cause the child to begin to whisper a plaint.

"Silent. The show is just starting."

As the boy obediently and fearfully quieted, he listened. They'd found the upstairs door unlocked, no doubt. And within moments, they'd find that the door that held HIM locked away, the door traced with bindings and silver and a good, solid bar, was open. He'd carefully left it just the slightest bit ajar behind him and his new toy when he'd shoved the boy out into the hallway. It wouldn't be visible until they were nearly to it, and he expected a few hearts to miss a beat when the men realized this. The boy hadn't been much entertainment at all, almost immediately trapping himself in a dead end, but his father might prove much more entertaining.

And the shouts and calls and near-panic he was now hearing fulfilled that wish. They'd found the open cage, the tiger missing, and the door to the home upstairs open. Would they hunt for him first, or race to check on Abraham's family? The rapidly retreating footsteps and the golden glow, now undimmed, told him which it would be.

Head tilted, demented grin stretched wide, he listened to the calls of terror above, the frantic shouts for Sam. Oh, the terror that must be racing through Abraham's veins right now! Delicious...and with an affectionate nuzzle at the lovely bait beside him, he listened to each enjoyable, panic-tinged call of the men above him. 


	4. Chapter 4

(slightly longer one, but still short. I do know where this is going, but it might end up longer than I'd expected. Not another "To Possess" but maybe along the lines of "Awaken"!)

Trade Ch 4

Oh, dear God. Not Samuel. Not his child.

The prayer repeated and repeated as they searched through the house. No sign of Sam, but also no blood; Abraham didn't know whether to accept that as a blessing, or whether it was something more sinister. How had the vampire gotten free? Had it been released? By whom?

A quick check revealed the keys gone from their hiding place, and his heart sank. Sam...and the touseled hair and gap-toothed grin of his child's face loomed in his mind's eye...Sam. Ever-curious, ever-daring, his beloved son had gone into the basement. And the vampire had eaten him.

The beast had not been fed since it had managed to lure a sailor to its coffin on the boat, months ago. He didn't doubt it was starving...and what the fate of his son had been. He simple knelt on the floor by the desk, the empty cavity showing him what had happened, and wept.

"Abraham. Abraham...what is..." Seward's voice trailed into silence as he saw the empty cubbyhole in the desk.

"Sam must have taken the keys. He wanted to explore the basement. I told him no. And he...Dracula." Abraham's voice was broken as he continued, tears rolling unheeded down his cheeks. "Dracula hasn't eaten since we brought him here. Sam...my son...he wouldn't have known, opened the door." Arthur Holmswood and John Seward each knew what would have happened, must have happened, when the child found the vampire, and their hearts broke for the Van Helsings. They'd been fond of the child themselves, his sturdy good-natured spirit and rambunctious boyish ways had been endearing, and they'd played the roles of uncles to the child with a tolerance that had rapidly changed to pure enjoyment.

He'd been a delightful child...and the vampire had taken him.

Seward was the first to realize what that might mean. "Abraham...if Dracula...your son might have been bitten." He refused to state that the child had been bitten, though he held out no hope. But the boy might now be a ghoul, and animated or not, the body was waiting down in the dark and cold. If a ghoul, they needed to act quickly to destroy the corpse before the contagion spread.

Forcing down his emotions, moving like a wooden puppet with tangled strings, Abraham rose and checked his pistol with the other men. They'd go down together, putting an end to the ghoul if it was there, and if not, retrieving the body. John had wanted Abraham to stay behind, but a man on his own was simply bait for a vampire, especially as damaged as Van Helsing was. And two men was not enough to go into a basement alone, even with gaslights...not if there was a ghoul.

It was a tragic, yet determined, party of three that went down the stairs to find the ghoul that had been a bright, happy boy a few hours ago, and reduce it to dust.

It was a shocked and frustrated and terrified and protective set of men that rounded a corner, turned up the gas light...and saw the vampire grinning at them from the end of the corridor, a tear-streaked child held hostage against him. The vampire's grin only grew larger as they realized their impotence to remove the child, the grin hidden briefly though the eye rolled merrily at them as Dracula turned and twisted down, sniffing delicately at Sam's hair.

"I'd wondered if I'd be eating alone tonight after all." Sharp, slightly crazed laughter rocked through the basement, and the vampire lounged comfortably in its corner, as though it had no care in the world, Sam's arm held tight in its hand, the boy's miserable and tear-streaked face begging them to save him. 


	5. Chapter 5

(Yes, he's an evil bastard and having far too much fun playing with his victims. :-) For any new readers, I have quite a few other Hellsing stories up. Reviews are always appreciated, and if you want to add a link to this to your facebook page when reviewing, I'd be happy to get more fans! Enjoy, and I hope everyone is having a happy (and safe) re-fourth- of-July-weekend. For my non-American fans, this is the week when we play with far too many fireworks!)

Trade Ch 5

Ignoring their restraining hands, Abraham pushed forward, moving towards the vampire and child. Dracula's gleaming, laughing eyes narrowed, and with another step, the playful nature vanished and the child was pulled across the beast's body, neck far too close to those sharp teeth. Dracula hissed, and Abraham took that warning for what it was, stopping where he was.

Silence reigned for a minute, broken only by the quiet weeping of the child, then Dracula spoke.

"I do intend to have a meal, and as you can see, I have a small but very tasty one right here." Abraham's silence and unwillingness to approach closer seemed to have appeased the monster, for the grin crept back across its face. "Is there any reason, other than the size of the meal, that I shouldn't be enjoying it?"

"Vampire, I-"

"I DO have a name, you know. Use it, human." Eyes dancing, the vampire watched as Abraham collected his mind, and spoke again. Voice half-broken, but determined, the man wasn't quite begging.

Yet.

"Dracula, that...he's my son. Please, don't hurt him. Let him go." The tilted head and gleaming eyes radiated the monster's amusement at his near-panic, and behind him, Abraham heard the slightest click of metal on metal.

"I wouldn't. You might hit the boy." Whoever had drawn the gun must have reholstered it, for the grin slowly spread across the monster's face again. A moment's silence while the child lay sprawled across his lap, then Dracula spoke, an aristocratic sneer present and his tones cultured, though the moment was anything but. "And such a poor father you are. First, you bring an undead monster into your home. Then you leave the boy alone, not even warning him. Shameful, really. And now he's down in this cold, chilly basement, nearly blue from the neglect, and you stand there and let him suffer."

The child was cold, not dressed warmly enough for a few hours of cold stone and cold vampire against his flesh, and his damp pants only exacerbated the problem. But Dracula didn't really care that the child was uncomfortable. They had guns, and they'd shoot him. Well, with the child in his lap, they'd be far less likely to do so. And he had no intention of getting his own pants damp. He chortled inside, seeing Abraham already stripping off his coat for his son.

"Will you let him go?" Ah, now the man was begging.

"And why would I do that? It's been lonely down here, and he's such marvelous company. So warm...so soft...and he smells so enticingly delicious." Dropping his head again to sniff the child, Dracula was pleased to hear Samuel cry out to his father.

"Father, I'm so sorry, I didn't know..." The child was crying now. "Daddy!" Dracula let the other pale arm stretch out pleadingly to the frantic father holding his coat tightly, but kept the child's torso pulled across his own, the other arm locked tight in his grip.

Abraham was in the grip of what had to be a most exquisite torture, and Dracula intended to make it even worse.

"Frightened, cold, and on my menu. What a poor father you've been to this child. Perhaps I should just bite him now, and be done with it." The slightest shifting of the child's position, and Abraham groaned in helpless fear. It was delicious, amazing...so much better than he'd hoped, so much more FUN. It had been so boring, and he had so many slights and so much misery to repay the men for. Dipping his head, he heard them gasp as his tongue ran along the boy's neck again. Samuel struggled briefly, but Dracula's relentless grip held him nearly immobile.

"PLEASE, NO!" Abraham's hoarse scream and abortive lunge towards him thrilled Dracula. Pulling his head from the boy's neck with every evidence of reluctance, he gazed at Abraham, a pondering, pensive expression now on his face, though the devil himself danced in the vampire's eyes. "Take me in his place, vampire." Abraham ground out the request, every muscle tense, clearly willing to die for the boy.

But that would ruin the game. Instead, Dracula narrowed his eyes, watching the despair nearly overwhelm Abraham and his two silent companions. "And leave the boy without a father? A ghoul would make a terrible "Daddy" you understand. And while you've been a miserably poor father to have your child land here, cold and hungry and in a vampire's grip, in his own home no less, you're still better than nothing." He could eat the man, though...and right before he died, tell Abraham that he'd be having the boy for dessert. A marvelous thought to take with one as one died. But no...that would end the game far too soon. The man hadn't suffered enough, had his mind tormented and confused anywhere near enough.

Time to move the game to the next level. "Show me you're a worthwhile father. You know your child is cold. You've already taken off your coat. Give him the coat." Abraham began to edge hesitantly towards them, gaze flicking from his son to the vampire, then immediately pulled back to his son. Dracula let him take a few steps, then spoke again.

"What a dreadful father, indeed. Walking up to a vampire that has your son, a vampire that, I may point out, is seated on the floor. I do believe I feel threatened." Well aware that the bared teeth were as much a grin as a mock threat, he flashed them at the man. "Perhaps you should crawl." Amusement and joy and a vicious glee bubbled inside him as the man edged across the floor, carefully extending the coat to his son.

Faster than he could see, Dracula's hand flashed out and snatched it away. "You'd better move away now. After all, you have a cornered prisoner here." At this point, Dracula could contain it no longer, and the laughter came out as a demented howling cackle of glee. "I MIGHT BITE!"

If he hadn't been so dry, he was quite certain tears of laughter would be streaking his cheeks. As Abraham jerked back in shock, he swiftly pulled the boy onto his lap, wrapping the coat about the child with a quick swirl of his arms. The boy was effectively cocooned, arms trapped inside, and Dracula settled him comfortably on his lap. They'd have to settle for a head-shot now, for the child blocked his body from them. Dropping his head, he nuzzled briefly at the neck, his head hiding behind the child. Hearing them gasp in fear, he looked back up, grinning widely.

Oh, this was far too much fun.

"This is quite draining and tiring, and I think I'll have my dinner now." Abraham's shriek echoed in his ears, and the man lunged forward to save his son. A well-placed kick on his ankle from what had been Dracula's motionless legs sent the man tumbling into the wall. "I've already said I won't be eating you, Abraham. And you certainly can't take your son from me." Only a few feet away, but he might as well have been miles, Abraham pulled himself back up, pleading, frantic eyes fixed on Dracula's.

"If you don't want me to eat your child, then you'd better find me a replacement." Really, he'd have settled for either of the men behind Abraham, but he had forgotten the man was a doctor. The next words from Van Helsing's mouth drove his eyebrows to his hairline, but it was worth considering if only for the novelty.

"Vampi...Dracula. If...if I bring you blood, would you release the boy?"

"You'd bring me blood? Human blood?" Intriguing. What did he have planned?

"Yes, yes! Some from everyone in the house, a great bowlful. Would you release my son, please, please, if you were fed?"

What a silly man. He could have killed them all when they first came downstairs, not knowing he was free. But...he'd never had any blood but fresh blood from the vein. This was a novelty. And in his long existence, novelty was something to be sought, indeed! No, he had no intention of releasing the boy and ending this game, not yet. It wasn't the food he was after, for he'd had the opportunity to take his fill of their blood and passed it up already. It was the entertainment. And he was curious. What would the blood taste like?

"Agreed. If you provide fresh human blood, enough to satisfy me, I won't eat your child. I'll have no reason to." Relief flooded their faces, but he couldn't give them time to think and realize what he had NOT said. "But you'll need to hurry. I am quite hungry, and if you aren't moving fast enough, why, I might think you are trying to delay me until morning. And then I won't just be hungry, I'll be angry. And poor Sam really would not like that." He grinned past Abraham at Arthur. "Now, Arthur, I think we can all agree that Abraham is a truly terrible father at this point, but do see if you can encourage him NOT to have his son eaten? I'd like that meal I was promised, and immediately if not sooner."  



	6. Chapter 6

(thanks for all the reviews, they do keep me writing!)

Arthur had remained with Sam and him while the two doctors raced upstairs to wake staff and gather blood. Part of his mind was turning over the novelty of "harvested" blood, but much of the rest was focused on tormenting Arthur.

"Ah, so off goes the friend and father, trying desperately to save the child put in the path of danger through incompetence. At least they're able to draw blood. Your only contribution is to watch me sit here." A brief and cruel laugh, while eyes watched Arthur closely to see if the barb had struck home.

"Not entirely. I'm also here to keep you from terrorizing Sam any more than you already have. And if you do hurt him, I'm armed." Arthur leaned on the wall, pose casual but every muscle taut as he twitched his jacket to the side, showing a second pistol to match the one held in his hand.

"And what would you do if I hurt him?" Dracula's pleasant tones nevertheless conveyed a taunt and a threat, and with the slightest of moves, he deliberately drew blood with one talon. Samuel gasped, and Dracula grinned. "Now, look what you've made me do in my fear. I've scratched the poor body. Please tell me you aren't planning to be a father, too?"

Arthur's face purpled beautifully with rage, and Sam's tear-streaked face twisted back to look at him. "Are...are you going to kill me?"

Grinning malignantly, Dracula chuckled at the child. "Whether I eat you depends entirely on your father at this point. As he's responsible for my being in your house in the first place, for not warning you, for not keeping you from the basement, and for not rescuing you from me, I suspect he'll fail. Again. And it'll be your father's fault that I will have to eat you. But Seward is with him, and Mr. Seward might be able to save you. I wouldn't count on your father, not any more."

The scent from the tiny scratch on the boy hit him then with an unexpected force. That sweet, hot blood, so close to him, released an odor that caused his mouth to flood with saliva and his stomach to clench. He knew his eyes had widened, and hoped the look of shock that had to be on his face was not visible to Arthur. No matter what he'd said to them all, or how fun this game was, another breath would ruin it. He settled for an enormous grin at the boy and then at Arthur, leaning back comfortably against the wall with his toy in his lap.

If they didn't arrive soon, with plenty of blood, it was entirely too likely he WOULD end up biting the boy. And that would be an insult to him, for he was no craven weak fool to bite a child. And a frustration, for it would end the game he was so enjoying.

Instead, he watched Arthur, refusing to breathe, and simply grinning larger and larger when the man spoke to Sam, encouraging the boy, and trying to provoke him into some sort of response. If he responded, he'd breathe. And he was far too hungry to breathe in a fresh blood-scent under his nose, and not respond.

The game had been entirely fun up to this point, and now hunger was making it uncomfortable. Forcing the frown from showing on his face, he kept up the facade of pure amusement until he heard the rapid clatter of shoes returning down the stairs.

They were back, and Seward was carrying a bowl, though not anywhere near so large as he'd hoped. But still, it reeked of fresh human blood and he couldn't prevent the red blaze in his eyes or the hiss of anticipation. Samuel cried out as his talons tightened unintentionally, and with an abortive jerk of his head he nearly struck the boy.

"Wait, wait! We have blood!" Abraham was panting with the results of the race to meet him, and without being told, quickly fell to his knees and pushed the bowl across the floor. Dracula didn't speak, eyes seeing only the bowl, but old caution bred into him from centuries kept the child centered on his lap, shielding his form.

There was an odd sort of catch on the bowl, and a lid, much like that on a stein for beer, and Dracula growled. Hungry, so hungry, but he couldn't release the boy to fiddle with the lid.

"Take off the lid, Abraham! Hurry, for the love of God!" Seward's cry came to them, and, still kneeling, Abraham fumbled with the lid. It sprang open, and, unable to wait any longer, Dracula snatched it up with his free hand. Heavy, it was heavy, but he was far too hungry to risk dropping it and not a drop was spilled as the bowl was raised to his face. Oh, so good, so good...he moaned, he couldn't stop it, the blood pouring down his throat as fast as he could gulp.

And empty far, far too soon. Growling in frustration, his tongue swiped about the bowl, cleaning the last lingering bits from the rim and the latch, snarling in anger that the meal had been so paltry. His head jerked up, and he hissed his frustration at the men before him. Impasse, for a few moments...they were clearly horrified by his sudden and violent consumption of the blood, he was partially unhinged by the frustration of the small meal. It had soothed his hunger, but also fanned it higher with the tease of blood.

"More." It was a snarl, backed by eyes that glowed red and from between gleaming teeth far too close to Samuel, and the bowl clattered across the floor to careen into Abraham, waiting in shock only a few feet away. Grabbing the bowl, he backed up, looking wildly from the bowl to the monster and back to the bowl.

"Samuel...my son...you said you'd release him if we gave you blood..." Almost a wail, cheated but resigned, pleading but hopeful, Abraham's cry and frantic and broken gaze was a balm to Dracula's heart. A few heartbeats passed, and he had control again, glaring back at the human.

"If you feed me enough, then I won't need to bite the boy. This was a commendable beginning, yes. But not anywhere near enough." Teeth bared at the man in a grin that was as much threat as leering humor. "You'd better try harder. That was merely an appetizer...and it has most certainly awakened my appetite."

They scrambled away, getting more blood, Arthur again left to watch. Unwilling to waste energy on the man, just paying enough attention to notice any movement from the gun, Dracula relaxed again, pondering the recent events.

Blood from a bowl? Interesting. Different. It had been a unique experience, to be able to gulp so freely. No matter how great the wound, it wasn't quite the same as from a person. And it had clotted a bit, too. The texture had been intriguing, and the lower temperature changed the taste a bit, not in a bad way, no...just different. Hmmming quietly to himself, he felt the boy move about a bit, and realized the child was attempting to gently free his arm while his captor was preoccupied. With a pointy grin, Dracula pulled him back to a firm position on his legs and went back to this own thoughts with a single preoccupied nuzzle of the child's hair.

The reaction to the blood had faded entirely, the blood-lust gone, and he was aware again of hunger, but no longer starvation. Another couple bowls of blood, and he'd be, well, not full. A vampire was never truly full. But sufficiently sated and recovered to move the game to the next stage. 


	7. Chapter 7

(with so many reviews, another chapter was in order tonight. :-) For any new readers, there are several other stories up, short and long, all of them Hellsing. Check my profile to find them. And for everyone, please share this on facebook or twitter...I'd love a few new readers! Thanks!)

Chapter 7

Every resident of the household had given what they could, to the point that most were swooning and pale. Grooms, maids, the butler...the only ones that hadn't given blood yet were Arthur and Sam. Arthur, because it was likely they'd need him to kill the monster. Sam, well, if the vampire took his blood, it wouldn't be via a needle and a bowl.

Shuddering, dizzy himself from the sheer quantity of blood he'd given in his desperation, Abraham navigated the stairs back to the basement carefully. The full bowl in his hand couldn't be spilled. Seward was finishing the last few blood draws upstairs and would be bringing down the second container of blood shortly. That one was no bowl, but an enormous stein. As dizzy as they were, neither was willing to risk an open-topped container. Drinking water, trying to restore his lost fluids, and Abraham had spilled as much as he'd gotten in himself.

But he'd get this down to that damned monster, and hope that, somehow, at some time, it would give them the chance to get Sam free. For now...it kept his son alive that little bit longer.

x x x

Tottering. The man was tottering. Dracula nearly laughed in delight at the extent to which Van Helsing had drained himself in his attempt to save his son, but settled for a wide and mocking grin. "It's about time. I'd thought you were feeding your son to me deliberately. It appears I was wrong, it was simply your incompetence again." The bowl was carefully scooted towards him, Abraham again on his hands and knees, and Dracula lifted it with far more decorum this time, able to easily unlatch the lid himself and peer inside.

Full, just as full as before. No longer starved senseless, he took his time with his meal. So odd...so many mixed flavors of blood. He'd never had that before. Always, it had been the blood of a single person at a time. This...there was a young lad in it...and an older woman...and a myriad of other flavors. One of them was a drunk, the bite of alcohol was faint but present. Fascinating...and so very novel! A stray thought went through his head...he might well be the first vampire to dine so! Far too soon, the bowl was empty, and he gave it several thorough swipes with his tongue.

It was nearly enough, but only nearly. It was certainly as much blood as he could have gotten out of Sam. And now, he'd managed to get that blood, keep the boy alive as a taunt to his father, reduce Van Helsing to tottering weakness, enrage Arthur...oh, such a pleasant evening! And blood from a bowl, an entirely new experience. A satisfied grin at the situation split his face.

"Still not enough, human. I'd almost think you were simply attempting to look like you were trying to save your son, instead of actually doing so. Your son has more blood in him than you've provided to me, and-" A clatter at the top of the stairs stopped his taunt, red eyes snapping down the hallway, narrowing as he waited to see who it might be. Seward had not returned with Abraham, was he planning something?

Ignoring the men, his lax grip tightened on the boy and his lip lifted, showing the very tips of his teeth. A faint growl at their duplicity rumbled in his chest, audible only to Sam...and then died when Seward appeared around the corner, a tall beer stein held tightly to his chest. "Perhaps you aren't a complete failure after all. No, nevermind. It isn't you that's saving your child at this point, it's John Seward." With a dismissive glance at Van Helsing, Dracula locked his gaze on Seward. "Now, what have you brought me? Hmmm?"

"It's the last of the blood, all we can get so very late at night." Seward's voice was a tired rasp, and the man staggered as he passed the tall mug to Abraham. Abraham struggled a bit, clearly quite weak, and it was with an amusing amount of effort that the container was pushed to Dracula. Quite amusing...the man was truly drained! But a bit nerve-wracking at the fear of any of that blood being lost, and he leaned forward to swipe it from Abraham, slightly squishing the child in the process.

Sam's grunt of protest was missed as he flipped open the top and peered inside. Not full, no...but well over half-way. He'd be nearly full himself after this drink, it was more than he thought they'd be able to obtain, but there was no purpose in telling them so. Leaving them to wonder if it would be enough, he hefted the great stein in his hand, pouring it carefully into his mouth, one red eye watching the closely past the curve of the mug.

Had he been given this first, instead of the bowl, he likely wouldn't have been able to lift it. It was an ornate beast, carved and decorated pewter and brass, clearly meant more for display than use...but they'd obviously been far too frantic to find any other closed container. A set of bottles would have been a wiser choice. Frantic, frightened, foolish humans... But still, this was acceptable. And the blood was just as filling as before. Much cooler, from the metal container, the flavors as rich and varied as he could hope. No alcohol, but tobacco flavored this, and the odd rich tang of a pregnant woman, the liquid wateriness of the elderly...he'd have to remember this. Combining blood, from such different sources...delightful. Truly.

The reduction in hunger let him savor and appreciate this fine meal. If only for this, it had been worth the effort of tormenting the people, of delaying his meal on the lad. The terror and horror and despair had been wonderful, though, and it was with great good humor that he cleaned the last traces from the stein and beamed at them as they stood, pale and shaking and hopeful and despairing, waiting for his answer.

"So close, so very close. Almost enough. Almost. But not quite. I want more blood, you haven't given me what you promised me. Not quite. And so Sam will have to give me the bit that you've shorted me. Such a poor parent. It wouldn't have been that much more...but you just wouldn't do it to save Sam." He really didn't want to bite the boy...he wanted Arthur as drained and exhausted as the other two. And they didn't disappoint him.

"WAIT! PLEASE!" Abraham's shriek was a bit breathless, the stresses and blood loss of the evening taking their toll. Eyebrow cocked, a condescending look in his face, Dracula waited...making it obvious with body language that it was only a brief wait, and that his teeth would be in Sam's neck very shortly.

"Arthur..." Abraham shot a wild look at the man, but before he could continue, Arthur was nodding and rolling up his sleeve.

"Of course, you don't even need to ask." Seward vanished momentarily, returning with the needle and a short hose, then tying a bit of cloth about Arthur's arm. Intriguing. While he'd taken plenty of blood himself, he'd never seen blood drawn by a human.

This was definitely a night of firsts!

"Sorry, Arthur. This needle is a bit dull, it's why we weren't using it." Arthur nodded, and Dracula watched the needle dive into the skin. At an angle? How odd...but it worked, for the blood came pouring out of the short hose and into the bowl. Hot, so hot, fresh...well-fed or not, he was drooling again, swallowing loudly. He made certain it was loud, the sound carrying in the enclosed space, amplified from the rock walls, and causing them to cringe. Still, blood only flows so fast...and time ticked by. Arthur was looking well and truly drained when Seward finally removed the needle. Abraham pulled the bowl from them, pushing it towards him.

A sniff...ah. Delectable. And a sip...different, when from only one person. But good, simply more like what he was accustomed to, a pure flavor. Sip after sip, it was gone far too soon but he had to admit to himself he was most definitely satisfied. Not full, for he could always, always eat more. But satisfied. No longer ready to bite the child or the men. And he grinned up at them.

"Success. Surprisingly so, with Abraham involved...but success."

"You'll let him go?" Abraham's quiet plea was rewarded with a shocked look, mocking the man clearly.

"Let him go? Why would I do such a silly thing. I said I would not bite me if I was fed. And I won't. Your child will not be a ghoul or a child of mine. He'll simply be dead." Said with a reassurring tone, but a vicious grin stretching his cheeks wide, Dracula released the boy's arm only to place both hands tight on his head. One quick twist, and the neck would be broken...and from the looks on their faces, the men were well aware of this. 


	8. Chapter 8

Ch 8

Abraham's scream stopped the vampire. An annoyed look hiding his glee, he glared at the man. "And NOW what do you want?"

"Please, don't kill him, don't kill him." The man was a shivering, sobbing wreck after seeing his son held by the vampire for the last couple hours. Amazing, really, how quickly the human had crumbled. The blood loss and the stress the man had been under the last few months hadn't helped, either. After all, he'd been responsible for no small amount of that stress. And such fruit his efforts had borne!

"Why would I not kill him? He disobeyed your orders, snuck downstairs when you were gone, and released a monster. If I let him grow up, well, he's already following in your footsteps of incompetent failure. Killing him now would likely be a mercy to the world." Pretending to ponder, a moment to pause and pretend to reach a realization... "The world deserves no mercy. Perhaps I shall let him live. But what sort of bribe would you offer me?"

Arthur stepped forward then, still pale and shaking, but furious. "And what sort of proof would you offer to us that you wouldn't simply kill him anyways?"

A rich, rolling, deeply malicious laugh rolled out, and Dracula tilted his head, eyeing the man with a single glowing orb. "I do have honor, you know. I didn't kill the child when he came, because where is the sport in that? Nor did I creep upstairs and murder the unsuspecting residents of the household, though the three of you had carelessly left them to me. At no time have I lied to you, have I? While two of you were away, did I simply kill the boy and the meal waiting in front of me? No. I had told you that I would let you bring me blood, and I did. And I had said that I would not bite the boy, and I did not." An evil grin stretched his lips. "It's not MY honor that is in question here, but your own. Why would I trust any of you? I've given you a way to feed me that didn't cost the lives of anyone, and now you repay me with your distrust?" A mocking smirk, an expression of injured pride. "I'm hurt, truly I am, wounded by your distrust. If you think so little of me, perhaps you may be right, and I am without honor. In which case, well, I should just bite Sam, then. True?"

Seward lifted his head, face streaked with fatigue and as grey as the others. "Damn you! Just... Damn you! What do you want?"

They were all at the ends of their ropes, a delightful English phrase, but it brought to mind puppets dancing on their strings. And they'd danced for him beautifully, true. But the stress, the late night, the blood loss...they were simply not thinking clearly. And so he'd have to lead them on to what he wanted.

"A trade. I would accept a trade. An incompetent man for a foolish boy. Besides, Abraham has made it plain he believes himself to be my Master. Perhaps I should become more acquainted with my "Master" and why he thinks himself to be so." A touch of rage crept out, anger at the treatment and humiliation he'd endured, and it was a fight to suppress it...though he thought the men might have detected it anyways. "Abraham...take your son's place, and I will release him."

"Unharmed?" The eyes of the men bore into him, seeing hope, possibility, and the boy twisted in his lap to look up at him, hopeful as well.

"As long as I do not see an attempt to trick me, yes. Any delays or irritation, and he might not be returned to you in as fine a condition as he is now. A fair trade, again. The man for the boy, and your good behavior for the boy's health." He almost purred at the looks of shock and calculation on their faces. "Decide quickly, for I'm certain he doesn't need all ten fingers. He'd get along perfectly fine with nine." They'd been planning something, or hoping to, and he gently cupped the child's hand in his own, grinning merrily as Abraham suddenly scooted forward across the floor, crawling quickly to him.

Never let them have time to think or plan. Tired and weak as they were, it could still go badly.

As soon as Abraham was close enough, he reached out and with a single smooth move, pulled the man into his lap while at the same time pulling the boy out. It took a half-second for the humans to ponder what had happened so quickly, but with a jerk Sam scrambled up and out of the coat and to the waiting arms of Seward and Holmswood. The three of them huddled, staring at Abraham, who sat stiffly on his lap.

The man reeked of terror and stress. It was delightful. And irresistable, truly, to gloat a bit, rub a cheek against the sweat-damp fabric across the man's shoulders, purr slightly in triumph. It was truly a wonderful evening...his erstwhile "Master" helpless in his arms, his friends unable to save him, and his son witnessing the results of the man's folly. Such a lovely, lovely evening...but morning was coming on, far too soon.  



	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

A sarcastic grin at the men standing in front of him, barely visible over Abraham's slumped shoulder. "And you're so eager to give up your friend to me. What a shame. But you did trade for the boy; perhaps you can raise him not to be so foolish as his father is."

Pale faces watched him, glancing down to Abraham and back up. Exhausted, they were exhausted, numbed...the fun with them was nearly over. But there was still a bit more to be had. "His father did nothing but give him a coat. The poor child was down in the cold for hours. Hungry, thirsty, tired...you should take better care of him." Eyes narrowed. "And I suggest you do so now."

They were reluctant to leave, to abandon Abraham to him...but Van Helsing spoke, his voice tired, low, and hopeless.

"Just...leave, please. You can't save me, and I'd rather...Samuel...take him away." A deep breath, and the man continued, "Sam...I love you very much..." He seemed ready to say more, but Alucard had had quite enough of this. He wanted the man to himself to play. It had taken all night to arrange the trade to his satisfaction, and it was time to gloat. With a sinister chuckle, he broke into Abraham's halting speech.

"Leave, now, or you'll have much more to explain to poor Sam." A red eye gleamed out at them. "Such as why his father is turning grey and bits are falling off." That threat was enough to chase them away, and once the three sets of footsteps had stumbled their way upstairs, he turned Abraham roughly in his lap, looking at the man closely.

He looked simply dreadful, and the heart raced, the sound thin and lacking in power. Blue eyes cracked open, peering at him hopelessly, resigned.

"And you'll turn me into a ghoul, I suppose."

"Do you deserve anything more? You murdered my child, went to Romania to destroy my family, drove a stake in me to haul me here, and then spent the last month taunting me." Much as he'd done with the son, Dracula took a long, careful lick up the man's neck, flicking the tip across the eyelashes and watching the man flinch with a deep satisfaction.

"You then left your son alone with me in the house, with no warning and no care. You brought you two friends with you, opening them up to the danger I posed as well. Had I truly been the creature you seem to think I am, you would all be dead, as would you entire household, and I'd be off to pay a visit to the Harkers." A contemplative hum, as he watched the grey-faced human sag even further. "And now, your child is free and unharmed, your friends damaged by nothing more major than a blood donation. You, yourself, are weaked but in a few days you'd be entirely recovered. And I haven't so much as frightened a single soul in your household."

"And you called ME a monster. I may be a vampire, but I have been far more honorable than you have ever dreamt of being yourself."

A snort, as the vampire arranged his new toy a bit more comfortably on his lap. "You don't seem to understand that concept, do you? Honor? I have taken you in exchange for you son. I agreed not to bite your son if I was fed, and you are now in his place. The agreement holds; you have been taken as a substitute and I accepted that." A snort. "And now you think I shall break my word and bite you. YOU might be a craven and lying individual, but I am not. I shall not bite you." Abraham's shaggy head rose, and he appeared ready to argue, and Dracula cut him off. "I said I would not bite you. I have not said I would not hurt you. You are a human, far weaker than I am, and there is no honor in injuring you without just cause. But you have placed yourself under my control, and if you rebel, I consider that cause."

A sigh, and Dracula made himself more comfortable against the cool stone wall. Silence, as he let the man ponder what he had said. The seeds of doubt were well-sown, and while the man had to KNOW he was a cruel creature, evil...there was now doubt. Abraham was turned around, pulled back to rest against his chest, and he let time tick by, letting the man's terror abate enough that fatigue and stress and blood-loss affected Abraham's body. In an off-hand, musing-to-himself tone, aware that Abraham could not see his great smile, he continued.

"For how many weeks have you declared yourself my Master? Kept me badly underfed, away from my coffin and the comforts of it as a bed, kept me uncomfortable, lonely, impossibly hungry...isolated from all that I needed? No one to talk to but you, and you had naught but insults and threats." Another long wait as the import sank through Abraham's head. "I think it is only mete that you spend some time as my own "unwilling guest." I won't leave you to starve for weeks, you're far too frail. Nor will I drive a stake into you, or badly injure some part of you so that every movement is pure agony. No...I am not so cruel."

A growl. "Perhaps I am more humane because I am not, as you have so proudly and arrogantly proclaimed for many weeks, a "human." But I do wish you to understand the loneliness and loss I have experienced, at least to a small extent. After all, you murdered my children, and yours has nothing wrong with him that a warm bath, a meal, and sleep would not set right. I am not so cruel as you, but you will be easing my loneliness and experience your own."

Rising lithely under the silent and depressed man, he tossed Abraham casually over a shoulder and went to find his coffin. He knew it was close...and he hoped for the sake of his game that it was undamaged. Had they broken it, game or not, he'd rip out the man's intestines. Slowly.

No, it was intact. Abraham was dumped on the floor unceremoniously as Dracula stepped quickly to the coffin, red eyes drinking in the shape, hands running gently and smoothly down the sides. Undamaged, only slightly dusty...and he deliberately voiced a small cry of relief. Abraham, tired and unbalanced as he was, unable to think clearly...Abraham was already feeling guilt, already uncertain, and twisting that knife a little bit more was certainly in his plans. Soil, too, he'd need that. Not as paramount as the coffin, but important nonetheless. Had Van Helsing brought any?

Unwilling to leave the man alone, he scooped him up again, with a distracted "Silence" as the man grunted in discomfort. Quick steps retraced the passage, checking into rooms, and it was only moments before he found the room with the boxes. Dropping Abraham again, he pulled open a few of them, finding them full of rich earth, pungent and full of the dry sharp scent of his home. He couldn't stop himself, he buried his arms in the dirt to the elbow, moaning slightly in his pleasure and relief, aware that he had an audience and hoping that Abraham felt a bit more guilt.

The man was in no condition to move, not now. And the room was not ready to be "his", either. It took time, but the stakes were broken, the silver kicked to the floor drain and left to splash dully in the sewer below, any holy item small enough to fit following close behind. Through it all, though he kept an eye on Abraham, the man seemed content to simply lie there. Alive, yes, but the heartbeat was weak and the skin was gaining a faint bluish tone from the chill of the floor. The bastard could suffer a bit of discomfort.

The coffin was gently placed on the floor, ringed about with the boxes of earth, and Dracula sighed in a luxurious anticipation. To Abraham's clear shock, the man was scooped up as well. Settling himself into the worn and comfortable padding of his coffin was a delight, already easing the fatigue and weakness, and Dracula stretched out comfortably, ignoring the man while he did so. The lump on his legs was the full weight of a grown man, but neglible to a vampire. The sun would be up within the hour, and once comfortable, he pulled the man down against him.

Abraham was shocked, frightened, and it was so delightful to have the human realize that he'd be trapped...in a coffin...next to a vampire. Lovely, so lovely. And with a wicked smile invisible to the human in the dim room, he reached up to shift the lid across them both. Listening to the shallow breaths of his prey, he frowned briefly, then shifted the lid again to allow a gap and fresh air. Done, he settled to relax and enjoy the sounds of his terrified, despairing company.

Company whose teeth were shortly chattering, and whose heart occasionally faltered and jumped. Humans...they were so very fragile. The man had truly given more blood than he ought to have, and he was nearly dying from the blood loss, cold, and stress of his situation. With a growling grumble, Dracula forced himself out of the coffin. Not even ten minutes of enjoyment, of soaking in the heat of the miserable, frightened man...and he was rising again. The coat was in the hallway where he'd left it, and it was not long before he was wrapping Abraham in it.

The man was aware enough to protest slightly, and Dracula snapped at him irritably. "You are a fool. You have given so much blood that your body can't even handle the chill of a basement." Truthfully, it wasn't the basement so much as the head-to-toe contact with his own cold flesh that had driven the man to shivering cold, but he wished to emphasize how weak humans were. "You may have given no comforts to me, not a single blanket to lay myself upon, but I am no human." A few moments to wrap the man's coat about him...and then footsteps.

He nearly hissed in irritation, but fought the emotion down, hearing only one set of steps. They hesitated, pausing at the foot of the steps, and Seward's voice spoke, cracking on the first word. "Ak...A..Abraham? Dracula?"

"We are here." Leaving his prey to shiver in the coffin, Dracula went to find what sort of entertainment the man was ready to provide.

Not entertainment, but...a mug of soup? He paused a few feet from the man, watching him go even paler and sway slightly. Brave, if foolish, of him to come down here. "I did not make any promises of your safety. Why are you here?" Not a growl, but enough annoyance to show he'd rather the man was gone.

"Abraham...he gave a lot of blood. Too much. He'll need this." A trembling hand held out the mug, and under the voice, Dracula was pleased to sense the unspoken thought "...if he's alive."

A snort, and his white hand moved swiftly and unexpectedly to gracefully lift the mug from the man's grip. "He'll need more than one. And a blanket." Withdrawing quickly, he let the grin stretch his cheeks as soon as his back was to Seward. What he'd just said was entirely out of character for the evil, vicious beast they thought they'd had contained. Another layer of doubt to place in their minds, another reason for them to question themselves.

Abraham sat huddled in the coffin, shivering with cold and stress, head sagging. Had he attempted to get out of it and found himself too weak? Perhaps. As long as he lived, well, Dracula couldn't really care how miserable he was. But his ability to live was in question at the moment.

"Seward brought this. And I do not starve my prisoners." A lie, he'd starved many of them, and a few he'd given dead bodies and the choice of cannibalism or death by starvation, out of a cruel curiousity. After all, he'd learned the bounds of what a human body could handle through practice on his own prisoners, before and after his own death. But Van Helsing could be made to wonder...

The man's hands shook so that he could not even feed himself, and Dracula found himself holding the mug of steaming beef broth and bits of meat for Abraham. It was slow, and the man kept darting glances as him, astonished but too cold and hungry to refuse the meal or question his intentions. Even so, it was a simple mug and soon empty.

"Is...is there anything else?" The man was a fool! His hands were clearly empty...oh. In the dark, it was unlikely the man could see more than his outline against the light of the doorway. Fool, though, to have hoped for more.

"No." But footsteps on the stairs again pulled him away. "But perhaps they did now."

Leaving Abraham, he returned to the stairs to find Seward burdened by a thick blanket, another mug in his hand. "This will help him, but no more. Not tonight." He was calm, amused by the human's bravery in coming down into the basement, alone, trying to help a friend that was believed to already be dead. The bravery changed quickly as he switched out the mugs, faster than the human expected or could accomodate with his cold-numbed fingers, and a dribble of broth ran over the top of the mug.

Fortunately, it was only the thinnest drop, for it burned and brought a snarl. Not risking dropping it and being splashed, Dracula swiftly crouched and set it on the floor, dropping the blanket and rising to grip Seward around his throat in a nearly fatally-tight grasp.

"Holy water? In the BROTH?" A snarl, and Seward's choked response reminded him that he'd better loosen his grip a bit. He'd have a minor blister, but no real harm had been done. Yet.

A fatalistic shrug from Seward, resigned to his fate. "It was worth a try. You damn monster, you move too fast." The last was said in a wheezing chuckle, and Dracula sighed, imbuing his voice with tones of fatigue and grumbling acceptance.

"You're a brave man, I suppose you did need to try. And it was cleverly done. Did Abraham know of this? It won't change his fate, but I've been honest with you, so do not lie to me."

"No, no." Seward's grim, sad eyes met his own, and it was child's play for the Count to detect the honesty there. "It was a final attempt, we had holy water, a small vial of it. I remembered it on the way back with the soup. We emptied the vial into the mug right before I brought it downstairs, Abraham wouldn't have known anything."

Curious, Dracula tilted his head, regarding the man before him with a falsely respectful gaze. "And what did you hope to accomplish?"

"To burn you, grab Abraham, and attempt to escape." Seward's honesty won him full marks, but the man was a fool, to give such information so freely.

"At best, you would have injured me, and I would have eaten you to heal myself. Possibly I would have eaten Abraham, too." A sigh, as a tutor would to a difficult student. "Abraham would have told you how foolish this was, but thanks to his own idiocy, he has an angry, tired vampire in his home and himself in its power. I don't know as I would have listened to anything he said even if he had warned you." Releasing the man entirely to sag bonelessly against the wall in front of him, Dracula stooped swiftly, taking the blanket and the mug.

"The Holy Water won't hurt him, not yet. And he needs the liquid. I'm not in the mood to kill anyone tonight, so go." Leaving the man to mull over both his own miraculous survival and the potential meanings of what he'd been told, Dracula grinned to himself. His back was to Seward, the man couldn't see his face...but he knew the man's own face would be a mask of confusion.

Here he was, the great and terrible monster...feeding his captive, requesting a blanket, and not killing Seward despite the man's own attempt to kill him.

Abraham was strong enough to drink the mug of beef broth without assistance this time, which was as well. Dracula had no intention of having any of that corrosive liquid touch his skin! The empty mug was on the floor, and before long, Dracula was stretched again in his coffin, his toy wrapped snuggly in the blanket and resting along his side. He couldn't resist a victorious rub of his cheek on the man's head, humming a bit in happiness at how well this was going.

To say Abraham and Seward were now confused and doubting was a tremendous understatement. In only a few hours of play, he'd shaken the pillars of their world. Perhaps there would be time for a few more vibrations before he slept.

"Why...why didn't you kill me?" A pause, and Abraham sorted out the questions that had to be racing through his mind. "Why...am I here?"

And time to lie, to lay another layer of doubt. "You are alive because I have eaten, and I am not threatened. I do not need to kill you. And you did not kill me when the chance presented itself." Granted, because the man had far worse plans in mind, but Dracula attempted the misdirection anyways. "You are uninjured because I am no longer trapped at the end of a corridor, starved and exhausted to near-delirium and too weak to rise. I am well-fed, and you no longer threaten me." Let his behavior earlier be seen as the bluffing of a frightened and worried creature, emphasize again how he'd been denied his coffin and soil and any sustenance. "You are here because I am lonely. You are only a human, not a child of mine...but I did not want to fall asleep again, alone in the dark."

With that final barb, he grinned up at the coffin lid. Twisting his head down, he rubbed his face gently across the man's head again, giving a contented and deep sigh. It was difficult to keep a laugh from rumbling that sigh as the humor fought to bubble out, but he managed. Abraham couldn't see the grin on his face, either. But time to fight that off, and assume a happy, calm expression. He'd fall asleep with that on his face, a faint smile directed down from his tilted head to Abraham...and let them see THAT when the men came back to rescue their friend.

"But...the food. The blanket. I...why?" The man was entirely baffled at his good fortune...and the sun would be up very soon. As far as Abraham knew, it might already have risen. Instead of responding, Dracula remained very still, faking sleep. After waiting a few minutes for a response, Abraham sighed, settling against him. The man was clearly too exhausted and too cold still to attempt to leave.

Dracula had no illusions about this, though. As soon as the man felt capable of doing so, Van Helsing would try to leave, or the others would come to "rescue" the man. And if he'd done his work well, they'd be far too confused about whether or not he was "evil" to stake him and be done. It was a risk, but he judged his risks well, and what was "life" without a little danger to add spice to it?

It would be interesting to see how they would keep him contained, how they would interact with him in the future. It had been a busy night, breaking down their emotional defenses, leaving them confused and uncertain. But what a productive night. Their clear terror and distress, their guilt and confusion, the sheer physical damage he'd forced them to inflict on themselves with the blood drawing...it was wonderful, an elixir for the wounded pride and frustration he'd experienced for far too long.

And the novelty of drawn, harvested, combined blood. That, too.

Such a wonderful night. And tomorrow night, he'd see what they had attempted for containment. Even if it worked, well, he had all of eternity to break it, and he'd sown more than enough doubt for them to be unwilling to treat him with much maliciousness.

Arthur might. But Seward and Abraham would know they had been spared, spared by what they had thought was a remorseless, murdering monster. They'd be changing their views of him, altering what they thought was appropriate behavior.

Silly fools. They'd been right the first time.

END

x x x x

I might go ahead and end this here. If you'd like the end tied off, Abraham does leave, they do decide not to kill Dracula, and instead of permanent imprisonment they offer him a chance to work with Abraham via a contract. Out of boredom and curiousity, he accepts. They bind him with a contract, and it's intriguing enough that he's content to remain in their service. He could break it any time, but it provides a change for him, and he enjoys tormenting the Van Helsings. Integra gets him and he mentions that the contract has remained unchanged since her father's time, and that's what I'm alluding to.

In other words, he's a vicious monster, but it suits his whims to allow the Hellsings to control him. Existence is boring, and they are far too much fun to play with and mislead.

I might go ahead and add more to it, but I'm content with where it's ended. Thanks for reading and thank you very much to the people that reviewed it, added it to the facebook via the review options, and that headed to my other stories out of curiousity. :) 


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